Pulley: That’s so cliche - an exercise in writing

Clichés drive me up the wall. Every Tom, Dick and Harry use them, but I try to avoid them like the plague. Believe me, my newspaper column readers will cause me to eat crow if they find any.

I’m not mincing words when I say that the monkey is always on my back when I get more negative comments about my clichés than I can shake a stick at. Try writing a column just off the top of your head while watching out for clichés, attempting to keep them at arm’s length. It’s not exactly as easy as pie.

Sometimes I meet readers on the street who give me the cold shoulder, telling me to cool it. But I’m a creature of habit and even though I try to cover all the bases and not use clichés — as luck would have it — I’m often dead in the water. Clichés are the bane of my existence.

Why, the other day while trying to write a column and just testing the waters, I had to stop because I was as hungry as a bear (I could have eaten a horse) and slipped off to my favorite café to shake the cobwebs out of my head, maybe even try to put myself back in the driver’s seat, so to speak.

A fetching waitress appeared out of the blue. She was a sight for sore eyes. You could have knocked me over with a feather when she said, “I read your columns and find them inane, inconsequential and stupid as the day is long.”

Just off the top of my head, I said, “Pardon me, but you just used a cliché — ‘as the day is long.’”

“You said a mouthful, but you’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy. Your columns — lock, stock and barrel — are grist for the mill when it comes to clichés.”

Fortunately, I didn’t hit the ceiling but, instead, in one fell swoop was rendered speechless.

“As far as I’m concerned,” she said, “you’re just running off at the mouth.”

She wasn’t pulling any punches, but she didn’t make my blood boil. In fact, I was happy to rub elbows with her even though she was a force to be reckoned with.

“You’ve made me see the light,” I said, “and I’ll try to cease and desist from using hackneyed clichés, that is, overused clichés.”

If looks could kill, I would have been a dead man. She was reading me like a book and had me between a rock and a hard place.

“I’ll never use another overworked cliché,” I said apologetically.

I walked away with my tail tucked between my legs. The die was cast, and I was at a loss for words. The ball was in my court, and after all was said and done, I was a bit down in the mouth. But I soldiered on, hoping all my clichés would be scarce as hen’s teeth.